[A/N: Thank you to Calamity Owl for beta-reading this chapter!]
They spent the rest of the morning and a bit into the afternoon going over basic Charms theory, then had cheese toasties for a small lunch. Afterward, Harry cleaned all of the dishes magically to confirm he was feeling better. Some of the spells didn't clean quite as quickly as he'd have liked, but overall he felt good enough to go out.
"It's time to introduce you to Wizarding Britain," he told Hermione once they'd put away the dishes and pan. "I'll glamour us so we won't be recognizable, but we'll still need to be careful. Please hold my hand or my arm the whole time in case we need to make a quick escape, too."
"Are you sure this is worth it?" she asked.
"Definitely. We need supplies, you need a wand, and ideally we want some clothes so you'll look less like a muggle." He pulled out his wand. "Any requests on your appearance? I was going to go with something that looked non-descript Southern European for both of us, with extra bushy eyebrows for myself. I can change your hair colour or lengthen it, but I can't change its texture."
"That's fine, I guess," Hermione said. "I've never really considered that as an option."
"OK." Harry waved his wand over his head and an oily film seemed to descend over his body. A moment later, he did hers, giving them matching olive skin and bushy black hair.
"This is amazing," she said.
"It's a tremendously tricky Charm," Harry said. "We learnt it at the Auror Academy for disguises. If anyone asks, we're a married couple named Mark and Anne Winter who recently moved here from an unspecified country for personal reasons. On the off chance we run into anyone I know well, I'm going to need to let you do the talking, since I can't change our voices."
"That makes sense," Hermione said. "What if they keep pressing for information?"
Harry shrugged. "Ignore them. There's nothing illegal about walking around with a glamour on unless you're trying to impersonate a specific person, so anyone who tries to do anything more than question us will be on the wrong side of the law."
"Is…um…someone likely to try that sort of thing?" Hermione asked.
"No." Harry did his best to sound reassuring. "And I promise you that no one is going to do more than try, regardless."
She nodded nervously.
"Don't worry," Harry said. "This is a popular shopping district and it'll be the middle of the day. Now, I'll just get some money upstairs and then we can get going."
"I can pay for some of it," Hermione said.
"I'm afraid you can't," Harry said. "Wizarding Britain uses different money for some reason. Also, I don't think anyone is likely tracking your bank card, but you never know."
"Oh."
"Don't worry," he said. "At some point ten years from now when you're gainfully employed in the Wizarding World and have had a chance to save up, buy me a nice broomstick or something and we can call it even."
"I will," she said firmly, and he got the distinct impression that come hell or high water he was going to get a broomstick on September 27, 2014.
A few minutes later, after he'd stashed a couple of hundred galleons in a featherweight, space-expanded money pouch, he found himself facing down the floo with a nervously determined Hermione. "OK," he said, "just toss a bit of the powder in, wait till the flames turn green, step in, and clearly say 'Diagon Alley.'"
"I can do that," she said. "Wait, is that 'Diagon Alley' or 'diagonally'?"
Harry grimaced. "Diagon Alley. Two words."
"I see. What was that look for, though?"
"I didn't get that until like the third time I went there," he said. "You picked it up the first time I mentioned it."
"You were a small child at the time," Hermione said. "Give yourself a break."
"It's still embarrassing." He sighed and tossed his powder in. "Follow me in fifteen seconds," he said, before stepping into the flames and calling out his destination.
The usual spinning, sucking sensation grabbed him by the feet and hauled him through the floo network, passing an array of fireplaces and conversations that doubtless each hid their own secrets, dreams, and lies. Harry tried to be the kind of person who focused on that and not on how the experience seemed to be designed to magically centrifuge his brain out of his ears, but he once again failed. He did remember to keep his knees bent when we hit the ground in the Leaky Cauldron.
The sights, sounds, and smells of the crowded pub assaulted his senses immediately upon arrival, but he pushed those out of his mind with years of practice playing pro Quidditch and forced himself to focus on the floo. He took one unsteady step to the left, then pivoted to face the floo and shifted his feet apart a few inches. He sank into the deeper stance, preparing himself–
Hermione spun out of the floo like a human pinball, but like most other people who weren't familiar with it she let the spin carry her to the left and, in her case, right into Harry's waiting arms.
"Gotcha," he said.
Her only response was a moan.
"I don't blame you," he said. He slung her right arm over his shoulders and half-walked, half-carried her through the pub and out into the street.
By the time they were back under the diffused sun of a cloudy London afternoon, Hermione had once again found her voice. "That was awful," she said. "Is that how people get around?"
"Yes," Harry said. "I'm not sure if people raised magical just have stronger inner ears or what, because that still gets me after all of these years."
"But…you caught me," she said.
He shrugged. "I didn't want to let you down. Oh, I guess I can let you go now."
"I…guess so." She didn't meet his eyes as she retrieved her arm from his shoulder. "Now what?"
"Let's check Ollivander's first," Harry said. "If he's busy, we can come back later, but it's important we meet with him privately." He held out his left arm to Hermione, which she grabbed as if it were the only flotation device capable of keeping her from sinking into an unfamiliar sea.
The Alley wasn't too crowded that day, since the start-of-school rush was well over and most people had done any shopping they needed to do while collecting school supplies. Hermione tried not to gawk at the oddly dressed witches and wizards around them and the garish signs decorating the stores they passed, and in no time at all they made it to Ollivander's.
It happened to be empty when they arrived, so Harry led them inside. As soon as they entered the store, he flipped the sign to "closed" and turned to face Ollivander. "I'm sorry, Mr. Ollivander, but I'm going to have to ask for a private consultation for my lady friend. I'll pay you extra for your trouble."
"That would be fine." Ollivander peered at them. "Pleasant facial features, but bland. A glamour, I see. Ah, but your wand…eleven inches, holly, looks nice and supple. Mr. Potter! Always a pleasure. Albus told me much of your adventures, and I'm glad to see your wand doing such great things. It had as much potential as its brother, you know, but you've used it far better."
Harry twitched, but managed to keep his composure. "Indeed, Mr. Ollivander. I should have known you'd know my wand."
"You have a brother?" Hermione asked.
"No, no," Ollivander said. "The phoenix that gave its feather for the core of Mr. Potter's wand only gave one other feather for my wands, and that wand cast the curse that gave Mr. Potter his scar. Both of those wands are great in their own ways, my dear, even though one is as terrible as it is great."
Hermione paled a little. "I…um…see."
"My friend is in need of a wand." Harry did his best to haul the conversation somewhere less unpleasant. "Can you help her?"
"Of course," Ollivander said. "Come here, dear. Hmmm…try this one. Nine and one-quarter inches, elm, brittle but strong, with a core of Welsh Green Dragon heartstring."
Hermione took the wand. "How do I know if it works?" she asked.
"Just give it a swish," Ollivander said. "It should feel like your old…" he paused. "No, this is your first wand, isn't it? How intriguing!"
"I would deeply appreciate it," Harry said quickly, "if you would keep that to yourself. In less than one year the truth will out, I promise you, but for the moment we need to be discreet. Please contact Headmistress McGonagall if you don't believe me."
"Certainly," Ollivander said. "I match the person to the wand, nothing more. I don't need to trouble myself with something as trivial as a name to do my work." He pulled out several more wands. "Now, let us try…"
Hermione went through a dozen wands before she drew a vine wand, ten and three-quarters of an inch long, with a core of Hungarian Horntail heartstring and a sudden gust of wind ripped through the room.
"How curious!" Ollivander said. "I made this wand decades ago and only now has it finally chosen its witch. That gives me hope for the handful of others I've had sitting on a shelf these many years. That will be ten galleons and three sickles."
"Please take fifteen with our appreciation for your private time," Harry said.
"Oh, no." Ollivander shook his head and counted out the change. "I charge the correct price for each wand, not one knut more or less."
"Thank you," Hermione said, staring in awe at her new wand. "This feels…perfect."
"That is a powerful wand," Ollivander said. "It will demand perfection of you and deliver perfection in return. I see that it has chosen…wisely, I think. Time will tell. Good day to both of you."
They nodded and hurried out of the store. "Harry," Hermione asked, "is the entire Wizarding World this…unsettling?"
"Not the whole thing, no," Harry said. "Mr. Ollivander is special."
She shuddered. "I felt like he was undressing me with his eyes the whole time, only he was also removing my skin with them, too."
"You know, you're actually the third person I've met who described him like that," Harry said. "Regardless of gender. He's egalitarian in his creepiness."
"Lovely."
"Would some ice cream help?" Harry asked.
"Yes!" Hermione said.
"Right this way, then." Harry offered her his arm again and led her back down the alley to Fortescue's ice cream parlour. The old timbered building still had its homey charm, and once they were inside they paused to check out the list of flavours.
"Goat cheese and beet swirl? Grape and pineapple? What are these flavours?" Hermione asked.
"Probably tastier than you think," Harry said. "Though not always."
They eventually settled on Yellow Curry Coconut for Harry and Red Bean and Chocolate for Hermione. She took a sceptical bite of hers once they got to their table, followed quickly by a much larger bite. "This is delicious!" she said.
"I'm glad you like it," Harry said. "Mine is, too."
They happily ate in silence for a few minutes before Hermione spoke up again. "So, what's next?"
"Next, we get you some wizarding clothes," Harry said. "Think of them as camouflage, plus you'll probably need them at some point."
"That makes sense," she said. "I would definitely prefer to blend in."
After they finished their ice cream, Harry took Hermione just up the road to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. There were only a few other patrons in the store, so a salesgirl saw to them almost immediately and started measuring Hermione for robes. Overall, it was a perfectly normal robe-fitting trip until the door swung open and a peppy ex-Slytherin woman with short, curly brown hair flounced into the store and gave the salesgirl a hug.
"Wilone!" Tracey Davis said. "How've you been?"
"Good, but I'm with a customer right now," the salesgirl said. "They just moved here and she needs a full wardrobe, so I may be a bit."
"Oh!" Tracey spun around and held out her hand to Hermione. "Hullo there! I'm Tracey Davis and welcome to Britain. This is just the loveliest shop, isn't it? What brings you to our fair isle?" She winked. "And, by 'fair,' I mean 'rainy,' of course."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Davis," Hermione said, subtly shifting her speech toward a RP accent. Harry was impressed. Instead of trying to hide her British accent, she was dropping into the sort of accent a particularly good student might learn. "My name is Anne, and this is my husband Mark. We're just here for my husband's work."
"The pleasure is all mine," Tracey said before turning her attention to Harry. "Tracey Davis," she said, holding out her hand. Harry noticed she'd angled it so it would look like she was going for a muggle-style handshake, probably because of his clothes, but also so it wouldn't be awkward for him to turn it over to kiss her hand were he more old-school.
"Charmed," Harry said in the raspiest voice he could summon up on short notice while shaking her hand.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Hermione said. "My husband's voice is sore from all of his meetings so far today. I do hope you'll excuse his poor conversation."
"Of course," Tracey said. "I hope he feels better soon. All of this chill autumn rain can't be good for his throat."
"Thank you," Hermione said.
Wilone tapped her wand to her tape measure and it folded itself up and shot back into her vest pocket. "There we go, ma'am. I'll enter your measurements, get Tracey her order, and then help make up your robes. It shouldn't take too long."
"It's been a pleasure meeting you." Tracey handed Hermione a card. "If you ever need anything, please let me know. I'm a professional arranger."
Harry saw the struggle between the desire to end the conversation and get more information in Hermione's eyes and knew it could only end one way.
"What do you arrange?" Hermione inquired.
Tracey grinned. "Anything legal. Babysitting, crup walking, weddings, doxy removal…if you need it done, I can arrange to have it done for you."
"That sounds fascinating." Hermione continued with the stilted pronunciation as she filed the card away, but before she did so, she read it carefully for a moment the way Harry had seen certain Japanese exchange Aurors read business cards. "Thank you."
"My pleasure," Tracey said, and accompanied the salesgirl to the rear of the store.
Harry released a huge breath. "Thank you for covering that," he said. "Just my luck to meet one of my more extroverted former classmates."
Hermione nodded. "I had a feeling you knew her from the way you reacted and talked. She seems like a character."
"Oh, she is," Harry said. "Don't let her bubbliness fool you; she's always collecting information to share and identify new clients or opportunities. She was one of the few people in Slytherin House who wasn't a Pureblood, and she survived by making herself invaluable to her classmates. I'm sure she's guessed that we're glamoured and lying to her, but thanks to your clever choice of accent and your treatment of her business card, she's probably still in the dark about where we're from and what we're up to."
"I was just trying to be careful." Hermione blushed. "I'm glad you thought I did a good job, since I have absolutely no experience with this sort of thing. I mean, I've never even gotten in trouble at school and now I'm skulking around in a disguise with a dangerous man."
Harry smirked. "You're a natural, then."
She flipped her hair over her shoulder. "MI6 will be so disappointed I missed my true calling," she said in a posh accent.
Their next stop was Potage's Cauldrons for a cauldron (of course Hermione found the different brewing properties of each metal fascinating), followed by a trip to Slug & Jiggers to put in an order for a full stock of potion ingredients. By then, the robes were done, so Harry (after discreetly ensuring Tracey was no longer present) summoned Dobby to collect Hermione's robes, then again to bring home the cauldron and the potions ingredients.
Once that was handled, Harry led Hermione back to the Leaky Cauldron. "Are you up for one more adventure?" he asked.
"I'm honestly not sure," she said. "Today has just been overwhelming in so many ways. What did you have in mind?"
"I did promise you a hamburg–"
"I'm in," she said.
He shot her a grin which she met with a tight-lipped smile of her own. "Great," he said. "I know just the place."
They made their way further into Diagon Alley until they came to Sudely's Scrumptious Sandwiches. "The Leaky Cauldron is the place to go for pub grub," Harry said, "but this is where everyone goes for a good sandwich."
"It is?" Hermione eyed the grungy, half-timbered exterior of the building sceptically.
"Have I ever lied to you?" Harry asked.
She turned her gaze on him and arched her eyebrows.
"It's a fair cop," Harry said. "Come on, you'll love it. I'll need to use that raspy voice again in case any of the wait staff recognize my voice, but I don't think there will be any trouble."
"Fine, but only because I really want a burger." Hermione allowed him to lead her into the restaurant, which turned out to be a cosy little room with thick, dark old wood beams around the walls and across the ceiling. The tables and chairs were of similar dark wood, worn smooth by decades of patrons. They were still a bit early for dinner, so they had no trouble finding a table for two even in such a small establishment.
A middle-aged witch with bags under her eyes, her usual turtleneck shirt, and a magically animated nametag that alternately flashed the words "Moira Spangleton" and "Ask me about our daily special!" sauntered over to their table. "Hey, Harry," she said, barely sparing them a glance. "The usual for you?"
Harry's jaw dropped. Moira only bothered glancing up at him when he didn't respond, then promptly did a double-take. "But you're…" she started, then clamped her mouth shut and put her free hand over her mouth.
Harry looked nervously around the restaurant while Hermione just looked confused. "But…you're still…and aren't I still…" she trailed off, staring at her arms and checking her hair.
"I'm s…sorry," Moira said. "I…um…mistook you for another customer. Silly old me. I've never seen you before in my life."
Moira had served Harry easily dozens of sandwiches over the previous year, occasionally more than once a week if he was treating himself. She'd never shown any sort of strange magic-sensing ability, or even any real magical talent. And, now that he thought about it, he realised he'd never seen her at a particular time of the month.
He looked up at her. "Moira, I'm so sorry," he said.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said stiffly.
"It's fine," Harry said, as a bewildered Hermione looked on. "Sirius Black is my godfather, and he's married to–"
"Remus Lupin," Moira finished. "Oh, thank Morgana. You won't tell, will you? Mr. Sudely knows, but he'd have to fire me if anyone found out."
"Of course I won't," Harry said, "and my friend won't, either."
Hermione nodded. "I don't think it's fair at all. I won't say a word."
"Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me," Moira said. "What do you want for supper? It's my treat tonight."
"I can't take your money," Harry said. "Just don't tell anyone you saw me with a woman and we're even."
"I wouldn't tell anyone anyway," Moira said. "My customers' love lives are their own business."
"It's not like that," Hermione said quickly. "It's…um…I'm in hiding."
"I'll take this to my grave, dearie," Moira whispered, then continued in a normal voice, "so what can I get you two lovebirds?"
"I'd like my usual," Harry said.
"And the garlic bread burger with gouda and red onion sounds delicious, but please hold the tomato," Hermione said, then turned to Harry. "Oh, you…um…won't mind it if I have garlic breath, will you?"
"I promised you a burger and it'd be a poor gift if I didn't let you have the one you wanted. Besides," he said with a smirk, "what do you think my usual is?"
She shot him a tight-lipped smile. "Garlic breath it is, then."
"How would you like it cooked?" Moira asked.
"Medium rare." Hermione's smile had grown so large it was threatening to reveal her teeth.
"Will do," Moira said. "Anything to drink?"
"Two butterbeers, please," Harry said.
Hermione's smile faded instantly. "I'm not sure I should have alcohol again."
"It's just a weak beer," Harry said, "and it's delicious. You have to try it."
Moira arched her eyebrows. "You've never had butterbeer, dearie?"
"No." Hermione instinctively shrank back from the attention.
"I'll get you some water, too, then," Moira said, "but you have to try the butterbeer. I think you may be the only witch over the age of ten on the entire island who's never had any. I'll take it off the bill if you don't like it…or just give it to him."
Harry grinned appreciatively.
"OK, thank you," Hermione said.
Moira nodded, drew her wand, and waved it lazily in the direction of the kitchen. "Accio glass," she said. A water glass zipped out of the kitchen and, guided by a wave of her wand, settled itself on the table in front of Hermione. The muggleborn woman didn't outwardly react to that, but she couldn't stop herself from jumping a little when Moira pointed her wand at the glass and said, "Aguamenti" to fill it to about a quarter of an inch below the rim.
"It's alright," Moira said. "I haven't overfilled a glass since I was still in waitress training, and that's more years ago than I'd ever admit sober."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Hermione said. "I didn't mean to imply you didn't know what you were doing. So that's…I can drink that?"
"Of course you can, dearie," Moira said. "Haven't you…ever…" she trailed off and turned to Harry. "If you're breaking the Statute, I don't want to know," she whispered.
"I swear we're not," Harry said.
"Then…how?" she asked.
"One year," Harry said. "I'll tell you in one year."
She shook her head. "I'm going to be telling my nieces and nephews about this in a year, aren't I?"
"Probably," Harry said with a rueful smile. "You can even tell them you served her first butterbeer."
Hermione put her face in her hands. "Oh, God, am I going to be a minor celebrity if this works?"
"I'm afraid so," Harry said. "I'd say I was sorry, but I'm actually excited that you might take some of the attention off me for once."
Hermione took her right hand from her face, picked up her water glass, and, without looking, threw the water right in Harry's face. Then, she placed the water glass back down in front of her and said, "I seem to have spilt my water. May I have more, please?"
Moira burst out laughing, briefly attracting the attention of the other patrons. "You can have as much as you like if you're going to use it so wisely."
While Moira refilled Hermione's water, Harry asked her, "Could you hit me with a Drying Charm when you're done?"
"I could," Moira said. "I'll be right back with the butterbeers." She winked at Hermione and walked away.
"Humph," Harry said.
"You deserved that." Hermione finally removed her hands from her face.
"Possibly," Harry said as he drew his wand. He aimed it at himself and hit himself with a Drying Charm. It never seemed to work as thoroughly on himself as when someone else did it, but the sensation of a blast of warm, dry air certainly felt good.
Moira returned a moment later and deposited a butterbeer in front of each of them. "The burgers will be up shortly," she said. "When I come back, let me know what you think of the butterbeer…" she trailed off and shot a meaningful glance at Harry, "or whether you'll need any more water."
"I'll let you know," Hermione said. "After all, some people learn their lesson more quickly than others."
"Fine," Harry said. "I promise not to throw you to the ravenous tabloid wolves in order to save my own miserable hide."
Hermione smiled brightly. "See? Was that so hard?"
"Yes," Harry grumbled.
"They all need a little domestication, dearie," Moira said as she sauntered off.
"Domestication?" Harry asked. "I cook all the time!"
"It's the little things," Hermione said. "Leaving the toilet seat down, not leaving dirty dishes in the sink for too long, not feeding your flatmate to the tabloids."
Harry pouted. "Domestication sounds hard."
"So I hear," Hermione said without a trace of sympathy.
"Could I feed you just a little to the tabloids?"
"No."
"Just a story about your favourite muggle designers?"
She glowered at him. "Do I look like I can afford designers?"
"Oh. Sorry." Harry scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "You always dressed nicely at work and I just sort of assumed it was designer. Aren't all nice clothes designed?"
Her glower turned into confusion. "Are you having me on?"
"Wait, what?"
"You always dress so well," Hermione said, "but now you're talking like you don't know anything about clothes. Are you just messing with me?"
"No, I really don't," Harry said. "I just pay a lot of money and other people give me clothes and tell me what to wear."
"Your outfits cost more than my rent! How can you know nothing about them?" she asked.
"I just wanted to look nice," Harry said defensively.
"You can do that without spending huge sums of money, you know," Hermione said. "I do, and you just said you thought I usually looked decent."
"No, I don't know," Harry shot back. "Who taught you how to pick out clothing and put together nice outfits?"
"My…mother." Hermione's face fell as she said the word. "Didn't you have anyone who could teach you?"
"When I moved in with Sirius, he'd just spent the previous twelve years in rags and was desperate to put that behind him," Harry said. "He was never great at dressing well, though, just ostentatiously. I didn't have the luxury of being Lord Black and doing that, though. I spent that same twelve years in clothing a few steps up from Sirius's rags, and I've never had anyone who could teach me to dress like a proper Pureblooded lord. If I tried to do so and failed, the tabloids would mock me. So, instead, I decided to dress like a wealthy muggle. I know I shouldn't pay attention to the tabloids, but the constant snickering gets so tiresome after awhile. I just wanted people to leave me alone, and, if I'm being really honest, I know how Sirius feels and I never want to be ashamed of my clothes again, either."
Harry took a breath after his diatribe and waited for Hermione's response, but none came. Instead, she just stared at the butterbeer on the table in front of her. After what was probably a solid thirty seconds but felt like a year, he cleared his throat and said, "I'm sorry, I guess you hit a bit of a nerve there. I didn't offend you, did I?"
"Of course not!" Hermione said, finally looking up and meeting his eyes. The glamour didn't touch their eyes, and he found himself oddly glad to see her usual chocolate brown eyes just then. "I'm so sorry, H–" She cut herself off before she could say his name while they were glamoured. "I had no idea. I know I shouldn't be jealous of your money, but some part of me must be."
She took a deep breath. "I grew up pretty wealthy, but my parents were never fans of my decision to go to postgraduate school in a 'fluffy' discipline like history and haven't given me a penny for it, so I went straight from 'upper-middle class childhood' to 'barely scraping by' and it was a tough transition. It's hard to see someone dressed like my parents or the people I knew growing up and not feel a twinge remembering I've lost that and will probably never get it back. You don't deserve that, though. You've lost more than I could ever imagine and the last thing you need is me begrudging you the one luxury you seem to allow yourself."
"It's OK," Harry said. "I don't mean to rub your nose in your own circumstances every time you look at me."
"I know," she said. "It's irrational and I hate that I do it."
"All humans are allowed a bit of irrationality," Harry said, affecting a confident air. "It's in the rules somewhere. I checked."
She stared at him for a moment before bursting out laughing. "How do you do that? My classmates always used to say I had the sense of humour of a broken brick, but you can reliably make me laugh even when I feel terrible."
"No clue, sorry," he said. "I always thought my sense of humour was average, at best. Maybe they just weren't funny."
"I'll suggest that the next time I see them…except I probably won't, will I? That's starting to sink in."
"I'm afraid you won't," Harry said. "Will you miss them?"
"The people who compared me to a brick?" She arched her eyebrows at him.
He smirked. "I'll take that as a 'no.'"
"Definitely," she said. "Not that they'll miss me, either. I think they assumed my research would go nowhere and I'd eventually be tossed out of the program, anyway."
"Do you care that they'll probably think you did?" Harry asked.
"Not at all," she said. "They can keep their research. This is so much more interesting that I can't even begin to describe it."
Before Harry could respond to that, Moira returned with their burgers. "How did you like the butterbeer, dearie?" she asked Hermione.
"Oh, right!" Hermione took a quick drink from her mug. "Oh…oh, my. That's delicious. I've never had anything like it."
"I'm glad you like it," Moira said. "Enjoy your burgers!"
They tucked in as soon as she left. After a couple of bites to take the edge off his hunger, he asked Hermione, "What do you think?"
"Wonderful," she said as soon as she swallowed. "This is the best burger I've had in years."
Harry smirked. "There are definitely benefits to the lack of a Wizarding Health and Safety Executive. I mean, there are lots of downsides, but at least we get good burgers."
"I'll take what I can get," Hermione said, and took another big bite.
